There was a time when
cycles of standard repertoire came from
the "greats" of the industry
while the smaller companies delved into
lesser-known fare. Curiously, Rachmaninov
cycles have recently come from two of
the smaller companies which, happily,
nonetheless continue their explorations
of the byways of music; that by Oleg
Marshev and the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra
under James Loughran on Danacord (DACOCD
582-3) and the present issue from
Hyperion. To tell the truth, the former
has been sitting on my shelves for a
couple of years in multiple copies that
I received as a result of having written
the booklet notes, so this seemed a
good moment to assess it together with
Hough and Litton.
Certainly, the two
offer remarkably different interpretations,
so I hope that the following comments
will make it clear to you which you
are likely to prefer. In a certain sense,
it could all be summed up by contrasting
Hough and Litton’s total timing of 145:35
for the five works with Marshev and
Loughran’s 165:38 – almost another concerto-worth
of extra time and necessitating a third
CD. However, Danacord offer the set
at three for the price of two, so don’t
let economic considerations worry you.
Another difference
is that the Hyperion comes with a manifesto
nailed to its door in the form of a
preface by the pianist. I’m not sure
this sort of thing is to be encouraged
since it seems to me a form of "Solti-itis",
a word I derive from that incomparable
knight’s practice, during a long career,
of preceding his major releases with
a plethora of interviews in which he
explained how and why his forthcoming
interpretations were superior to all
previous ones. And there were many,
critics included, who were hoodwinked
into believing they really were so.
In the same way, I have already seen
some write-ups of Hough’s Rachmaninov
(no reference to KS on this same site,
though he is certainly more enthusiastic
than I am) which have virtually taken
Hough’s introduction, turned it from
the first person into the third, and
called that a review.
So let us examine some
of his points. One regards the use of
portamento slides in the strings. Now,
if we take the first orchestral statement
of the principal theme of Concerto 1,
first movement, following the opening
flourishes, it is evident that Litton
has studied the Rachmaninov/Ormandy
recording very carefully, for the same
portamentos are reproduced in exactly
the same places, and the same goes for
a couple of fairly radical tenutos on
single notes. As an exercise in style
it is fascinating, even wonderful. I
am not sure that the Dallas orchestra
has quite the saturated weight of string
tone commanded by Ormandy’s Philadelphia
at its peak, though it is difficult
to judge this on the strength of recordings
made more than 60 years apart. There
is no doubt that this band has acquired
infinitely more bloom and depth of sound
since it recorded the Symphonic Dances
so dryly under Donald Johanos in the
1970s.
Fascinated as I was
by the exercise, I wondered whether
it was going to be a bit too much of
a good thing in the course of all five
works, but this was not put to the test
since the orchestra evidently felt that,
having done their duty towards early
20th Century stylistic conventions
on those two pages, enough was enough
and they revert to a typically modern,
squeaky-clean manner of playing; if
there are more than three or four portamentos
in all the remaining four works put
together I’ll eat my hat. There is no
attempt, for example, to emulate Stokowski’s
swooping strings in the 18th
variation of the Rhapsody, to name one
obvious point, and moments like the
high-lying string writing at the end
of the 4th concerto’s first
movement or the lyrical theme in the
finale of the 3rd seem to
cry out for the odd slide here and there.
Indeed, there are some unredeemed bands
here in Europe (though not that of Aarhus)
which still provide such things even
without any declared agenda. Perhaps
I would have made less of this point
if it hadn’t been for the pianist’s
declarations.
Hough also speaks of
"the characteristic rubato of the
composer’s playing", the "flexible,
fluent tempos, always pushing forward
with ardour" and the "teasing,
shaded inner-voices forming chromatically
shifting harmonic counterpoint to the
melody". With regard to the latter,
I didn’t honestly note any inner line
which was brought out by Hough and missed
by Marshev, though if you search the
catalogue for unperceptive performances
you will obviously find some. Turning
to the "characteristic rubato",
it is again the first concerto in which
Hough seems to be experimenting most
systematically, offering numerous impulsive
spurts countered by languorous hesitations,
sometimes even to a greater degree than
the composer himself. What I miss is
Rachmaninov’s own ability to do all
this while retaining a certain aristocratic
detachment; in other words, Hough has
reproduced the manner but not always
the substance of Rachmaninov’s pianism.
All the same, while the composer’s performance
has a greater range, Hough’s mercurial
approach has its attractions in a work
which, though so heavily revised in
1917 as to form a harmonic bridge between
the 3rd and 4th
concertos, nevertheless retains its
youthful character.
Hough has harsh words
to say about many interpreters of the
2nd concerto: "To take
too slow a tempo, with numerous ritardandos,
for the first subject of the first movement
of Rachmaninov’s Second Concerto means
that one of the longest melodies in
the repertoire becomes fragmented and
earthbound". This sort of sweeping
comment, designed to evoke images of
a host of unjustly famous ignoramuses
vying with each other to muck up great
music, is better avoided. Come on, Mr.
Hough, who are these nitwits? Let’s
have some names. Do you mean Richter?
Rubinstein? Ashkenazy? I think we should
be told.
In the event, Hough
presents a swift, surging first movement,
attractive but just a shade breathless.
If one is going to preach stylistic
awareness, I feel there are other things
to be taken into consideration too.
For a start, it’s marked "Moderato".
Now "moderato", more than
a tempo, is a mood, or an atmosphere.
There is a certain range of tempi at
which a "moderato" mood can
be achieved and it may be that Rachmaninov
could make this tempo sound "moderato";
I have to say that Hough’s tempo is,
to my ears, "allegro". Another
issue is the metronome mark. Heaven
forbid that such romantic music should
be played metronomically but since the
marking is there we may as well have
a look at it, and in fact Marshev’s
slower tempo is spot on, as were Farnadi
and Scherchen (Westminster, long deleted),
while Richter with Kondrashin was fractionally
slower still, enabling the conductor
to dig deeply into the various tenuto
markings in the string melody. All of
these seem to me to realize more satisfactorily
the idea of "moderato", and
the melody is neither fragmented nor
earthbound as they present it. Marshev
uses the extra space to give greater
weight and ardour to the music, and
the suspicion arises that Hough’s faster
tempi may derive from a lack real weight
to his tone. In the lead-back to the
recapitulation, for example, he fails
to dominate the orchestra as Marshev
(let alone Richter!) does.
At the same time, Marshev
also has the measure of the melancholy
poetry of the second movement, assisted
by some long-breathed phrasing from
Loughran and the orchestra. Hough again
misses the spirit of the "Adagio
sostenuto" marking – to my ears
this is an "Andante". Both
pianists have a tendency to make a ritardando
at the end of every bar in the early
stages of the movement, something which
Richter shows not to be necessary.
Still, my impressions
were still positive at the end of the
2nd Concerto, but I’m afraid
the 3rd left me quite unmoved.
Hough begins the "Allegro ma non
tanto" at about the tempo most
pianists reach in the "Più
mosso" section and the overall
impression was that he was merely skating
over the surface of the music, albeit
it gracefully and pleasantly. This deplorably
superficial account left me wondering
if the music had not lost its appeal
for me and it was actually at this point
that I decided to try the Marshev cycle.
Marshev and Loughran’s steadiness seemed
a little homespun beside the fleet sophistication
of Hough, but the music rang true, it
seemed to well out of the composer’s
soul, revealing those "six feet
of Russian gloom" of which Stravinsky
spoke. My faith in the music was restored.
I also found the (studio) recording
richer, clearer and more full-toned
than the Hyperion and I wonder if recording
live is necessarily such a good idea,
even if you have such a distinguished
producer as Andrew Keener in charge
of the proceedings. In all truth, once
a performance has been edited from a
considerable run of concert performances,
does it sound any more live than a good
studio effort? These didn’t really sound
like live performances and the burst
of applause at the end seemed an unwarranted
intrusion.
Concerto no.4 is a
special case; derided from its earliest
performances (in several versions),
not even the composer’s own recording
succeeded in planting it in the repertoire.
That the work could be made to sound
truly wonderful was demonstrated by
Michelangeli in his sole Rachmaninov
concerto recording, yet paradoxically
this did nothing to revive the work’s
fortunes in the concert hall. The impression
was that Michelangeli’s own genius was
at least as much responsible for the
result, and lesser pianists fought shy.
Marshev and Loughran make no attempt
to imitate Michelangeli; they take the
work steadily, at face value, and their
sincerity shows it to be a powerful
and rewarding work (it is actually my
own favourite, but I seem to be alone
in this). Basically, Hough and Litton
do the same but, as is their wont, with
faster tempi. Some may prefer this;
I love, for example, the extra swagger
Marshev and Loughran’s slower tempo
allows them to find in the D flat section
of the finale (two bars after fig. 49).
Hough’s Rhapsody, unlike
the Concertos, is a studio recording
and seems to benefit, with a clearer
perspective (and transferred at a higher
level) and with less tendency to screw
up the tempi more and more than the
pianist shows when playing live – something
which might be very exciting in the
concert hall but is not so good for
repeated listening. In any case, Hough’s
lightness and effervescence are harnessed
to good effect in this particular work,
especially when the famous 18th
variation is by no means underplayed.
If we compare Hough (02:57) directly
with Rachmaninov (02:35) we find that,
while Hough is not slavishly imitating
the composer, he is recognizably playing
the same music; turning immediately
to Marshev (03:38) he almost seems to
be playing something else. However,
taken in context Marshev’s warmth and
sincerity are moving. Overall Marshev
gives a tougher performance, some of
the ostinato variations suggesting parallels
with Prokofief.
It must be clear by
now that, of the two cycles, it is Marshev’s
which I recommend. Taking the discs
separately (which at present you can’t),
Hough’s coupling of 1 and 4 with the
Rhapsody has a lot going for it. Marshev’s
no.1, which I haven’t mentioned so far,
has the same leisurely ardour as the
rest of his cycle and I thoroughly enjoyed
it while thinking that perhaps Hough’s
approach was preferably for this youthful
music. But Marshev disappoints nowhere
and is better recorded, whereas a cycle
which has a superficial no.3 and a lightweight
no.2 is not really in the running.
At which point one
may ask if buying a complete cycle is
the best solution, for a number of the
best performances come from pianists
who recorded only one or two of the
concertos. You will probably seek the
Richter/Kondrashin or Farnadi/Scherchen
recordings in vain but Richter’s DG
version with Wislocki is presumably
available. Ashkenazy’s finest Rachmaninov
concerto recording came, not in his
cycle with Previn but in his one-off
version of no.3 with Ormandy. Horowitz
in no.3 was in a class his own, as Rachmaninov
himself recognised. His last recording,
with Ormandy, opened out the traditional
cuts but even so it is probably the
version with Reiner which represents
him at his peak. The piano dominates
the sound picture shamelessly, but in
view of the massive sound Horowitz could
get out of the instrument, this may
not quite as unrealistic as is often
supposed. Michelangeli in no.4 remains
unrivalled.
By the way, some people
might wish to insinuate that the fact
that I wrote the booklet notes for the
Marshev cycle makes me biased in its
favour. Let me assure them that, having
been duly rewarded for my work once
I will receive no benefit, economic
or otherwise, from future sales, reissues
or the like and so have no reason whatever
to push it except on the ground of its
merits. Though of course, since my name
is vicariously associated with it, I
am pleased to find that it is a cycle
which I can wholeheartedly enjoy.
Christopher Howell
see also review
by Kevin Sutton
Dallas Symphony Orchestra/Andrew Litton 
